Broken Wings
by Xirysa
Summary: Pre-FE7: /Will you fly away with me?/ The tale of Madelyn and Hassar.


**Xirysa Says:** So I've always wanted to write something with Madelyn and Hassar in it. And thus, 'fic is born. Enjoy. This was crazy fun to write, by the way. (Although despite major editing, there's still parts I really don't like...)

* * *

Broken Wings

-x-x-x-

Madelyn was only fifteen years old when she first met him, a little girl who desperately wanted to be seen as a woman. She was young, pretentious, and perhaps the tiniest bit spoiled.

"You're a savage," she said knowingly. "You're from Sacae, so that means that you're a savage." Before he could say anything in reply, she walked away, her skirts flouncing about her.

He simply watched her for a moment before looking back down at the partially carved arrowhead in his hands and resuming his work.

Their formal introduction took place the next day. Madelyn came to court that day at her father's request, in order to meet the new captain of Caelin's archery unit.

"This," Lord Hausen had said with a smile on his lips, "is Hassar of the Lorca. Sir Hassar, this is my daughter, Lady Madelyn."

Hassar bowed to each of them. "My lord, my lady." When he straightened up, he looked at Lord Hausen, his face expressionless. "My lord, my people do not put much care in formalities. I would like to ask you to do the same for me."

Lord Hausen chuckled quietly. "So much skill, yet so modest, too!" He smiled at Hassar. "If it pleases you, then very well. Wallace!"

A tall man who stood just behind the plainsman saluted the marquess. "Yes, sir?"

"Please take Hassar and show him where he will be staying."

"Of course." Wallace clapped Hassar on the shoulder and led him away. "Come along, lad."

The marquess looked thoughtfully at the Sacaen's retreating back. "You know, Madelyn, Hassar is only a few years older than you."

She looked at him. "Really?"

Her father nodded. "I believe he's only nineteen. And he all ready has so much skill with a bow! And his swordsmanship is amazing, too." He sighed. "I think that it is fitting that a bowman from the plains should be in charge of our archers. Don't you think so, Madelyn?"

Madelyn sighed. "I suppose..."

-x-x-x-

"I don't know why your father agreed to hire that Sacaen dog, Lady Madelyn," Marquess Araphen's son told her one day. "All they are interested in is fighting and eating human flesh."

"Lord Peter!" said Lady Ella, the daughter of one of the richest counts in Caelin, "that's not very polite!"

Madelyn shrugged and took a dainty sip of her tea. "It's alright, Lady Ella," she said. She turned to Lord Peter. "General Wallace suggested that Father hire Hassar when he was looking for someone to train the archery wing that the general put together. And you know how much my father respects General Wallace's comments."

"Yes, that's true, but… Hassar?" Lord Peter wrinkled his nose in disgust. "Even his name sounds uncivilized! But let's forget about him." He took a large gulp of tea and put an arm around Madelyn's shoulders. Lady Ella and a few of the other young ladies around them giggled behind their hands; the sons of the counts and dukes around them elbowed and winked at each other. Peter grinned at Madelyn. "Let's talk about the wedding instead."

It took everything in Madelyn to not throw her tea in his face and storm off angrily. Instead, she removed Peter's arm from her shoulder and placed it in his lap. "I'm only sixteen years old, and you are barely eighteen, Lord Peter," she said, "and the wedding won't be for another three or four years yet."

Lord Peterlaughed and grabbed Madelyn's hand. "We were betrothed years ago," he said as he brought it to his lips. It left a sloppy wet mark behind, and Madelyn cringed mentally. The girls around them sighed. "Is it not normal for me to want to discuss my wedding with my fiancée?"

She took her hand back and wiped it delicately with an embroidered handkerchief. "Of course it is, but I refuse to discuss any wedding plans without my father."

"Oh!" Peter looked decidedly smug. "Poor dear, she's shy!" He laughed, and the sound of it made her blood boil. "Very well, then. We can wait."

Madelyn could feel her face heating up from the laughter around them. "Pardon me," she muttered as she stood up and left the parlor they occupied. "I must go."

"My poor blushing bride, forget me not!" Peter called after her, and Madelyn clenched her fists angrily. The laughter was louder than before.

Much as she loved her father, Madelyn would never forgive him for betrothing her to such a pig.

-x-x-x-

Hassar never seemed to be the type to read—Madelyn didn't even think he _could_. Yet there he was, sitting beneath the old oak tree in the courtyard, a small book in his lap. She fingered her own book nervously; it was old and worn with use, its pages dog-eared and wrinkled. It told the tale of a great war from one thousand years ago, the Scouring, and it was one of Madelyn's favorites.

She approached him hesitantly. "Do you mind if I join you?"

He looked up at her and was quiet for a moment. Madelyn thought she had offended him somehow, and somehow the thought frightened her. "I'm sorry, I'll go, now, if you really want me to…"

"No." His voice was sudden, but it didn't sound harsh or rude. Hassar nodded to a patch of grass beside him. "You can stay."

"Oh." Madelyn stood still for a moment, unsure of what to do. "Well, thank you." She sat down beside him, her skirts tucked under her legs, back straight and hands folded delicately in her lap on top of her book. Her etiquette teachers would be proud of her.

Hassar nodded and resumed reading. Madelyn said nothing, but noticed how immersed he was in reading. His dark brows, furrowed slightly in concentration, and the small frown on his lips seemed to be the only indication of any expression on his face.

"What are you reading?" Madelyn blurted out, but she couldn't help it; the silence was deafening. In Caelin, as in much of Lycia, conversation was considered to be the bread and butter of high society.

But Hassar didn't seem to be angry in the slightest. "A book," he replied, and her lips curved in a small smile.

"I know _that_," she said, and she felt her smile widen when she saw his eyes twinkling merrily at her, though his expression remained blank, "but what is your book about?"

Using one finger to mark his place, Hassar closed the book and showed her the cover. _Child of Sky, Daughter of Earth: The Tale of Hanon the Horseman_.

"Hanon… the Horseman?" Madelyn asked. "The warrior from Sacae who was one of the eight Heroes of the Scouring?"

Hassar nodded. "She was a great warrior—peerless in the art of the bow and the arrow, none her equal in horsemanship."

Madelyn blinked. "But Hanon was a woman! Women don't fight—they aren't supposed to!"

"This surprises you?" Hassar asked slowly, and she nodded. "Women here lead very sheltered lives. In Sacae, every person—man and woman alike—learns how to wield either the bow or a sword. The women learn how to raise families and how to cook and do tasks around the home, yes, but they also learn how to protect them." He fell silent, and Madelyn took the opportunity to ask him another question.

"May I ask you a question, Hassar?" When he nodded, she continued quickly, hoping with all her heart that she didn't sound like a fool. "How is it that you learned how to read?"

"My mother taught me," he said slowly. "My father is the chief of our people, and as his son it is important that I learn how care for our people when his spirit leaves this world for the next. Of course, most of our tribe knows how to, but not in the standard tongue." He smiled. "It does not matter, though. Most of our tales and legends are told verbally; there is no need for paper and ink."

Her fingers played with the grass for a few moments. "Would you… Would you tell me one?"

And Hassar smiled. "Of course."

-x-x-x-

Sometimes, Madelyn saw Hassar around the castle training grounds with the rest of Caelin's soldiers as she took walks through the castle grounds with the sons and daughters of the noblemen who frequented her father's court. Most of the time, he trained on his own, shooting arrow after arrow at the target at one end of the field; sometimes, he was on foot and other times, he was on horseback.

Whenever he trained with the other soldiers, Hassar always used his sword. Even though Madelyn was no expert on warfare, she knew he was talented; he managed to make fighting look graceful, almost like one of the many waltzes she was forced to learn for the endless stream of social events she was expected to attend.

He never missed a shot, and he never lost a single sparring match. And for some reason, that fact made Madelyn very happy.

-x-x-x-

She reminded him of a caged bird. The bars were made out of society and decorum instead of metal, but he could see the way her smiles just held the smallest bit of sadness when she thought no one was watching.

Hassar sometimes wished he could help the little bird fly away and be free, but he knew it was almost impossible to break the lock of her cage.

-x-x-x-

"Oh, Lady Madelyn, you're so lucky!" Lady Ella squealed in the privacy of Madelyn's chambers. "Lord Peter is just _so_ handsome, and you're the lucky woman who is to be wedded to him!"

Madelyn simply sighed and looked at her bed, where her latest gift from Araphen lay. "I suppose."

It's wasn't a complete lie, Madelyn thought. Long blond hair that was carefully styled and dark eyes that many women claimed they could get lost in. He always wore the latest fashions, and presented her with gifts even when she asked him not to.

Most girls she knew would have—and had—fallen head-over-heels to get his attention. And Madelyn had, too. At first. But now that she knew what a pig Peter was, Madelyn wasn't in any hurry to wed him.

"And to think," Ella said as she held the gift—a lovely blue dress with silver embroidery in the latest Etrurian style—up to the light to get a better look at it, "that you two aren't even married yet! Just imagine how much he'll spoil you when you two get _married_." She giggled, and Madelyn wanted to cover her ears.

Instead, she looked out of the window, and what she saw made her smile. There was Hassar, sitting beneath the old oak in the courtyard, reading again. He looked up and stared directly at her window, and Madelyn could have sworn that she saw him smiling, too.

-x-x-x-

The sun was shining, the sky was blue, and his armor was clean and polished—in short, Wallace was very happy.

"Hassar," Wallace boomed happily, "it's time I showed you how men of Caelin trained."

The nomad looked down at his companion from his horse, his face emotionless. Wallace laughed again.

"Come, let's go. I bet I can run around the three times in my armor and lap you each time." He clapped his hands expectantly and grinned. "Now, get down from your horse, and we'll be on our way."

Hassar shook his hand and turned his animal away. "I think not."

"What?" Wallace said indignantly. "What do you mean?" He stroked his chin thoughtfully and regarded Hassar again. His face suddenly lit up with understanding. "Oh, I see. You don't want to lose."

Hassar stopped and turned his head to look at Wallace. "What?"

"Yes," Wallace said. "You don't want me to beat you if you agree to go for the run." He sighed and shook his head. "It's a shame, really. And here I thought I was going to see the legendary speed that you nomads are so renowned for. Oh well. Wouldn't want to hurt your pride."

A blur of dark hair and tanned skin passed Wallace, then, and he grinned. There was no way to get to a Sacaen than to insult his pride. Of course, he'd have to make it up to Hassar soon…

-x-x-x-

She wanted to scream. She wanted to yell, she wanted to throw something at the wall and hear it collide with the solid stone with a solid _thunk_ and hopefully hear it shatter into a million pieces—just like her heart, her spirit, her very _life_.

Years of training in etiquette and decorum, however, forced her to close her eyes and hold her breath and count to ten until she could think clearly. Madelyn desperately hoped that when she opened her eyes, she'd see nothing and that everything would be back to normal.

But when she opened her eyes, Madelyn saw her father beaming proudly at her and Peter leaning against the wall and looking particularly smug and Ella's eyes filling up with happy tears. Her uncle glared at her—but that was normal—and General Wallace gave her a wobbly smile from the doorway. The lords and ladies of the court laughed and applauded happily for her and for her father and for Peter—now Marquess Araphen—who would be her husband by the end of the summer.

And when Peter asked her if she would like to go for a walk with him, Madelyn painted a happy smile on her face and curtsied and said that yes, it would be her honor.

-x-x-x-

The eyes followed her wherever she went. In court, in the corridors, in the banquet hall. Even in her own chambers, Hassar knew, the eyes followed her in the form of the women who served as her maids.

They watched her every step like a hawk, always judging, always accusing. It unnerved him that they could look at a woman like her and see only imperfection.

She knew it, too—he knew she did. But she would keep her head high and proud so that the eyes didn't know, either.

Despite the fact that so many people watched her, Hassar sometimes felt that he was the only one who could see the pain in her eyes. And, for a reason he could explain, it made his heart hurt to watch her.

-x-x-x-

"P-Peter," Madelyn said as she tried to turn her head away from him, "Peter, stop. This is wrong; we shouldn't be doing this until we are wed…"

Peter chuckled and bent his head down so that his mouth was right next to her ear. "Really, Madelyn," he murmured, and she could smell the alcohol on his breath. "How are a couple of weeks going to matter?" He pulled back and licked his lips. "You're already mine."

Madelyn shivered as he closed in on her. "Peter, please stop, I'm begging you…" She braced herself for the feel of his lips on hers, and was surprised when a familiar voice echoed through the small corridor.

"Milord Peter!"

He pulled away from her, and the two of them turned to find Hassar standing at the end of the corridor.

Peter's lip curled unpleasantly. "That is Marquess Araphen to you, savage. What do you want?"

"Marquess Caelin wishes to speak to you regarding the wedding preparations. He requests your presence in the courtroom immediately."

Peter nodded and looked at Madelyn. He smiled and touched her cheek lightly; his smile widened when she flinched away from his hand. "You learn to get used to me yet, love," he said to her as he walked away.

"Get away from me, you filthy dog," he snapped as he passed Hassar. The plainsman simply stood rooted to the spot.

When Peter was finally gone, Madelyn turned to Hassar gratefully. "I don't know what he would have done had you not come, Hassar," she said. "Please believe me when I say I thank you from the bottom of my heart."

"Men like him are not worthy of a woman such as yourself, milady," he began slowly. "It is one of the things I do not understand about this land. Does your father not know that you do not love your intended?"

Madelyn shook her head as she tucked some stray hairs into place. "This union is mostly political. While Caelin has an army superior to Araphen's, we are lacking in wealth. With my marriage to Peter, both Caelin and Araphen will hopefully prosper."

"But you are not happy?" It sounded more like a statement than a question.

She shook her head and smiled sadly at the Sacaen. "If it helps my people and makes my father happy, it is good enough for me."

"Milady…" Hassar started, but Madelyn put up a hand to silence him.

"If you want to help me, please do not say anything about happened here to anyone."

-x-x-x-

The dream was not unfamiliar to her. She had first had it as a girl, when her mother was still alive and read stories of knights saving princesses from dragons.

But it had been years since she last had this dream, and for some reason, it made her happy.

The rider rode toward her again, like he always did, and he took of his helmet. What she saw surprised her.

Instead of thick golden curls and pale skin, she saw dark hair and skin the color of warm earth. Eyes black as night looked at her, their depths burning with unexplainable emotion in an otherwise grave face.

She took his hand, the rough feel of calluses and scars strangely pleasant on her palms. He helped her sit behind him, and she leaned forward to whisper in his ear.

"Let's fly away," she said. He nodded and flicked the reins once.

They flew.

-x-x-x-

"Well, friend," Wallace said gruffly in the barracks one evening, "this is it. By the end of the month, our little Lady Madelyn will be honeymooning with her new husband in Etruria. Seems like only the other day she was a girl with pigtails who played hide-and-seek in the courtyard."

Hassar stayed silent. He did not like where this conversation was going.

"Her father is a good man—a liege any soldier would be proud to serve." He sighed and ran a hand over his bald head. "It's important for a knight to follow their liege, but that knight must remember to serve themselves once in a while." Wallace looked at Hassar out of the corner of his eye for a moment before guffawing loudly. "Got you there, Hassar! Thought I was being serious for once?"

The Sacaen shook his head. "You are a strange man," he said. He walked to his bunk and grabbed his quiver. "I have something to attend to."

Wallace watched his friend leave the barracks and shook his head, a sad smile on his lips. "You're a loyal man, Hassar," he muttered to himself, "and loyalty to one's liege is like love itself. But don't get carried away. It's different here, in Caelin. Don't let yourself be carried away by a current you can't swim against." He was silent for a few minutes before a loud growl rumbled through the room. Wallace looked down at his stomach thoughtfully.

"I need some food."

-x-x-x-

Ella sighed and ran her hand lightly over the white silk of the gown on the bed. "Oh, Lady Madelyn…" she said wistfully, "you're so lucky."

Madelyn looked at her. "You've said that before."

"I know," Ella said, "but it's true. Lord Peter is obviously smitten with you, and you two look so good together! Elimine herself must have made you two for each other."

"I suppose," Madelyn said as she turned away and towards her vanity. "But I'm not that excited for the wedding."

Her companion nodded sagely. "Pre-wedding fright," she said knowingly. "It's understandable. After all, you are only nineteen years old, and Lord Peter is a man of twenty one years." She sighed and put her hand to her forehead. "And what a man he is!"

Madelyn nodded. "He is some man," she said softly.

-x-x-x-

Somehow, Madelyn knew that she would find him in the courtyard again. But this time, instead of a book, Hassar stood under the old oak with a small loaf of bread in his hand. She stopped a few paces away and blinked at him—along with reading, Madelyn couldn't recall ever seeing Hassar eat anything, even when he was with General Wallace (the man ate enough for three men, it seemed!). "You eat?" He stared at her, and Madelyn shook her head. "I'm sorry, that was rude of me."

He just shook his head, and she knew that he didn't mind. Madelyn approached him slowly. "If you don't mind me asking," she said softly, "would you tell me what you are doing?"

Hassar looked up into the branches of the tree for a moment. "The birds," he said.

"The birds?"

"Yes." Hassar ripped a small piece of bread from the loaf and closed his fist around it. When he opened it again, there was nothing but crumbs, and he tossed them to a pair of doves pecking at the ground a few feet away. "It is still summer, but I can feel the cold winds coming. The birds know, too, and they prepare to journey to the lands near Nabata." He was silent for a moment as he watched the doves for a moment. "There is a legend among my people," he said as he held the loaf out to Madelyn, "that says that the birds were the first nomads."

Madelyn ripped a piece from the loaf, crushing it in her hands and scattering it as Hassar's voice seemed to fill her mind.

"They say that long ago, the birds were created, the first children of Mother Earth and Father Sky. Though they flew through the air in the protection of their Father's arms, they returned to the bosom of the Mother who bore them for food and drink.

"But Sky and Earth fought each other for their children. Mother stomped and kicked her feet, and the earth cracked and broke. Father roared with anger, and the winds tore at the grass and trees. And the birds fled. Father Sky and Mother Earth regretted their decision, but it was too late—the birds were already gone.

"They missed their children deeply, but the birds refused to come back. So Mother Earth and Father Sky reached a compromise with them: the birds would stay with Mother and Father, but only when they were not arguing. So in the harsh months of winter, when Earth and Sky are at there worst, the birds flee to the warmth of Brother Sun, and only come back when the fighting ends. Brother Sun and Sister Rain come with them to keep them safe, and life returns to the plains once again." Hassar tossed the last of the crumbs to the birds and looked at Madelyn. "I am sorry, my lady; the tale must have bored you…"

Madelyn shook her head. "No, I enjoyed it very much. Thank you, Hassar." She looked at the birds; a small, wistful smile appeared on her face when they flew away. "I envy them so much. When they get old enough, birds are allowed to leave the nest. But I…" she sighed. "I'll be here forever."

Hassar moved away quietly; it was evident to him that she wanted to be on her own. But as he walked back towards the barracks, he could have sworn on his honor as a Sacaen that he heard the noble lady of Caelin whisper something to the wind.

"I just want to fly away…"

-x-x-x-

This wasn't happening. It couldn't be happening, it shouldn't be happening, but it was.

"Please," Madelyn whispered as his filthy mouth touched her hair, her face, her mouth, her neck, "please, stop…"

And he laughed at her as he sat up to undo the buttons of his shirt. "I told you that you were mine, didn't I?"

She shivered and tried to cover herself as best as she could. "We're going to be married within the week," she tried to reason with him. "Why can't you wait until then?"

He laughed again and brought his face close to hers. There was no alcohol on his breath. "Because I want you," he said as if it were that simple. His fingers inched closer to the top of her gown, and Madelyn closed her eyes.

But she never felt his fingers close over the fabric there; instead, she heard him groan and felt him topple off of the bed. She opened her eyes and almost cried in relief and fright.

Hassar stood above Peter's unmoving body. His face was contorted in anger, his breath coming out in fast bursts. He held his sword in one hand—he had probably used it to hit Peter upside the head.

Madelyn stood up and smiled at Hassar. "Hassar, I really don't know how I can—!" The feel of his lips pressed against hers stopped her, and for a moment she could only think about how good, how absolutely _perfect_, the moment felt.

He pulled away and looked at her with eyes half-opened. "Will you fly away with me, little bird?" he asked.

She stepped forward and wrapped her arms around him. "Yes."

-x-x-x-

"You called for me, my lord?" Wallace asked. His liege nodded, and Wallace couldn't help but notice how old the marquess looked. It seemed that he had aged twenty years in one night.

"Yes, General." He closed his eyes and continued. "Lady Madelyn… Is gone. She has run off with that… That Sacaen _bastard_, Hassar."

Wallace nodded. "And my orders, my lord?"

Lord Hausen opened his eyes. "Bring back my daughter, Wallace. Bring me back my child."

"Yes, sir." Wallace paused and looked at the marquess. "My lord, if I may…"

"Yes, General?"

"My lord, what should I with Hassar?"

The marquess looked pointedly at the lance Wallace carried openly at his side. "I should think that it is fairly obvious."

-x-x-x-

They rode hard that night, and for many days after. Under normal circumstances, it would take them just over a week to make it to the plains. But Madelyn was not used to hard travel, and Hassar had not had enough time to gather enough provisions for them, and when he noticed that she was pale and breathing harshly, Hassar knew that the ride was taxing her body.

Madelyn—how right it sounded to call her that without the formalities that Lycian society demanded!—had insisted that she was fine, but when she had nearly fallen from the saddle, Hassar stopped the horse at the next town they came too.

"You need to rest," he told her, and the look on his face told her that he was in no mood to argue. They spent the night in an inn, paying with a few gold pieces Hassar found in his saddlebags.

When morning came, Madelyn found Hassar waiting for her by the stables to the side of the inn. He was waiting by the stall of an unfamiliar horse—a sturdy-looking brown mare instead of his strong grey stallion. His lips were pressed together in a thin line, and Madelyn understood. They had worn the horse down during their flight from Caelin. There was no way the beast could continue another few days to the plains without collapsing.

She touched Hassar's arm softly. "I'm so sorry," she said.

He shook his head. "It's not your fault."

-x-x-x-

As far as Lundgren was concerned, things were going perfectly. With his niece out of the way, he was the only one left in line for the throne. The only thing left for him to do was plan how to take control of Caelin. But that could wait. Now, he played the part of a grieving uncle perfectly. He closed his eyes and shook his head slowly, feigning grief. "Madelyn, dear child," he murmured, "what could have possessed you to do something like this?"

His brother looked at him. The pain in his eyes was intense, and Lundgren thought he felt a pang of—dare he say it?—_guilt_ in his heart.

"Brother," Hausen said sadly, "may you never have to feel the pain of losing your only child."

-x-x-x-

"Are you sure, boy?" Wallace asked softly. "A tall man and a woman, both with dark hair, riding a grey horse?"

The child nodded and took his grubby hand out of his mouth long enough to respond. "Yessir," he said, "but they wasn't riding a brown horse. I 'member, it was brown. And the lady, she looked real sick, she did."

"And when did you see them?"

"I t'ink it was yesterday, sir," the boy said. He raised a hand and tugged on a lock of his bright red hair—rare even among Lycians—and nodded again. "Yes, yesterday."

"I see," the general replied. "Thank you. Now, run along home to your father and mother. Oh, and before I forget…" The boy looked up at him with wide brown eyes, and Wallace smiled at him. "If you're ever in Caelin, boy, come see me for work. Ask for General Wallace."

The boy's eyes got—if possible—even wider, and he raised a hand to his forehead in a child's attempt at a crisp salute. "Aye, sir!"

-x-x-x-

The weather was getting cooler—autumn was on its way. He felt Madelyn tighten her arms around his waist and slowed down the horse's pace slightly. "Is something wrong?" he asked her.

"Tell me again what Sacae is like, Hassar," she said.

"Again?" he asked her, and he could feel her smile into his back.

"Please."

Hassar was quiet for a moment. "Sacae is… Life itself. There is a spirit in everything, from the dirt to the grass to a tiny crawling insect. The rabbits and the deer and the hawk, and humans, too. We are all spirits—we are all lives—in different forms. But mostly, for us, Sacae is home."

Madelyn nodded, and her arms loosened slightly. "Home," she sighed. "What a wonderful thought."

-x-x-x-

Three days and two towns later, Wallace found himself at the Sacaen border alone. He had been told by the citizens of the towns he passed through that Hassar and Madelyn hadn't passed the border yet—whether the thought cheered him or grieved him, he didn't know.

A spot on the horizon caught his attention, and despite the distance, Wallace knew exactly who it was.

_So we meet again, old friend_, he thought to himself. _I pray to Elimine that we part as friends and not as enemies._

-x-x-x

Madelyn did not realize that she had fallen asleep until she noticed that the steady pounding of hooves on the hard earth had stopped. Blinking, she sat up, and she froze when she recognized the figure waiting for them at the border.

As if reading her thoughts, Hassar gave voice to her thoughts. "General Wallace."

-x-x-x-

He watched as Hassar dismounted and then assisted Lady Madelyn down from the saddle. They walked towards him, and Wallace raised his lance to show them that he would use force if necessary.

Hassar understood, and Wallace watched as his friend removed his sword from his scabbard and laid it upon the earth with one hand as he took of his quiver and placed it next to the blade with the other.

"I do not wish to fight you, Wallace," he said, his voice never wavering.

Wallace nodded. "Nor do I," he said, "but I have orders to bring you both back. If the need arises, I have the authority to use force."

Then Lady Madelyn stepped forward and Wallace could have sworn that despite being covered in the dirt and dust of a week's worth of travel, she had never looked so dignified. "Then, General Wallace," she said softly, "do not hurt Hassar. I am the one to blame."

Hassar shook his head and stood next to her tall and proud, a true son of Sacace. "I stole Madelyn away from Caelin. Do what you will with me, friend, but do not hurt her."

Wallace looked at the two of them as they stood together on the threshold of the plains, and before he knew it, the words were tumbling from his mouth.

"I never saw you two."

Lady Madelyn blinked at him. "Pardon me?" she asked, and Wallace bit back a laugh—Lady Madelyn, always so noble, always so proper.

"You two eluded me. I could not find you; you slipped into Sacae with me noticing."

They looked at him, and finally Lady Madelyn spoke. "You have a large heart, General. Thank you."

He didn't watch them as they rode away, but he heard the horse's hooves, and he could feel the tears in his eyes. But exactly _why_ he was crying, Wallace never knew.

-x-x-x-

She sits close against him, in the small ger made of sheep hair and held up with wooden beams. Her head is resting on his bare chest, and she can feel the steady beating of his heart. His fingers are running through her hair, and she smiles because it just feels so _nice_…

And then she remembers a pretentious little girl talking to a man carving an arrow head. _You're a savage,_ the girl says.

Drawing the blanket around them tighter, she turns so that she is facing them, loving the way her skin rubs against his. "I'm sorry for calling you a savage," she says, and she blushes when he smiles at her.

"I forgave you long ago," he says, and she knows that it's his own way of saying _I love you_.

-x-x-x-

_"Without love, we are birds with broken wings."_

—Morrie Schwartz, _Tuesdays_ _With Morrie_

-x-x-x-

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**Xirysa Says:** I know that everyone uses Marquess Araphen as a villain, but it's so hard _not_ to! And it was fun to turn the "lord" of Araphen into a total scum bucket. So this was kind of a fast-forward of the Madelyn and Hassar. I tried to split Lyn's personality into each of her parents, while at the same time giving each of them their own unique character and attempting to stay consistent with their respective nationalities. I also got a lot of the information and such from Wallace's supports with Kent and Lyndis. That myth thing, too, was rather lamesauce. And lawl, Hassar talks a lot for a Sacaen… But only to Madelyn! XD And I had to stick in dirty little chibi!Kent. Because, well… Yeah. Anyway, feedback and critique would be infinitely amazing, so please share them with me! I'd love to hear what you thought about this!


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